


Bad timing - aka what happened when Miguel was gone

by GreatMarta



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Arguments, Crisis, Drama, Enrique is worried sick, Family Drama, Gen, Luisa is worried sick, Papa Franco is the voice of reason, Tension, searching for Miguel, some dead relatives appear, this is one messy holiday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 12:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20675108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreatMarta/pseuds/GreatMarta
Summary: A man visits his family on Dia de Muertos. He comes across a major crisis.





	Bad timing - aka what happened when Miguel was gone

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for a tiny bit of foul language caused by strong emotions.

Jorge del Bosque had a simple plan for Dia de Muertos. First he was going to visit his daughter and her family in Santa Cecilia. Then he was going to visit his wife and son in Mexico City. Seeing how all of them were faring after his death was the absolute highlight of the year, and provided Jorge with reassurance he needed to rest in peace.

This year, however, something was off. 

Coming into his daughter’s family compound, he couldn’t hear any laughter or clunking of the cutlery. The air was thick with tension and everybody appeared to be on the edge. Elena – his daughter’s mother-in-law, whom he got to know as uncompromising as tough as nails – was pacing around nervously. Her husband Franco, normally calm and easygoing, wore the aura of morbid seriousness. The table in front of their open kitchen was bare – there was a jug of atole, not even a plate of pan de muerto. Only a glass of water, clutched by the trembling hands of a woman, who looked like was about to fall apart. Next to her a man was burying his face in his hands, and his knuckles turned white as he grasped bit of his hair.

Alerted, Jorge stopped in his tracks. Did someone die? Was it Elena’s mother? It would have made sense – she was nearing a 100 years of age. But her death would have resulted in quiet mourning, he supposed, not the kind of commotion he was seeing. It had to be something else.

He tried to focus. The younger man – whom he identified as Enrique, Elena and Franco’s second son – was trying to say something. Jorge thought he could make out “too many people,” , “lost sight of him,” or something along these lines. Franco nodded absently, stealing glances at the front gate. He half-heartedly pat the back of the younger woman, Enrique’s wife. What was her name? Lolita? Lucia? Something with an L, he was sure.

A sudden chill shook Jorge. His two oldest grandchildren – Abel and Rosa – ran right through him, in great hurry.

“We asked all of his friends,” Rosa reported. “Nobody has a clue.”

“He’s nowhere near school, either,” added Abel.

Both of them had worry written on their faces.

“Then maybe he’s hiding in a shed or behind a dumpster?” Franco suggested. “When I was angry at my old man, I’d hide in the barn.”

“That you did,” confirmed a skeleton looming over his shoulder. “Always made your Mama worried sick, you know.”

“He knows, Alberto,” said another skeleton, joining him. “You made sure of it.”

Jorge blinked, remembering why he had come here in the first place. It was Dia de Muertos, the dead were visiting their live loved ones, and those two were probably checking the ofrenda room for offerings. He would have done that too, under normal circumstances. The two were Franco’s parents, thus great-grandparents of Jorge’s grandchildren. The woman’s name was Sofia and her husband’s Alberto. Their eldest grandson – Jorge’s son-in-law – was named after him.

“Senor, Senora, what is going on here?” Jorge called to the couple, concluding they had arrived at the scene before he did, and hoping they could shed some light on the situation.

“Oh, Senor del Bosque – glad you could make it,” said Senora Sofia.

“Miguel ran off,” said Senor Alberto, more to the point.

“Our great-grandson, Enrique and Luisa’s son,” added Senora Sofia, thinking, perhaps, that Jorge wouldn’t make the connection. “Everyone’s looking for him.”

Oh yes, Miguel. He was close in age to Rosa, Jorge recalled. Just two years younger, if memory served. “Good heavens. I hope nothing happens to him.”

Senor Alberto gave a snort. “I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s a big boy, and he clearly wants to be alone right now. When he gets hungry, he’ll come back.”

Senora Sofia let out a weary breath. “I just hope he doesn’t do anything stupid. Boys are suck reckless creatures.”

Jorge couldn’t agree more. “My boy Rodrigo once skipped school to help a friend put some furniture together. He spent his entire payment on a fancy cigar, because he was curious if it’s any better than cigarettes.”

The husband and wife shook their heads. “I would have beat his ass,” said Senor Alberto.

“Maybe I should have,” admitted Jorge. “When I visited last year, he boasted about his Internet account, and how it was bringing him more and more money. For his mother’s sake, I hope he knows what he’s doing.”

Just then, Gloria – the sister of Jorge’s son in law – rounded the corner. Berto – the son-in-law himself – came in a moment later, struggling to catch his breath.

“Still nothing,” announced Gloria. “He was last seen asking to borrow a guitar at the Mariachi Plaza, but that was over an hour ago.”

Hearing this, Enrique slammed his fists against the table. “Dios mio, Mama!” he roared, jumping to his feet. “Did you HAVE to break his guitar?!”

“What else was I supposed to do?!” retorted Elena, her expression hurt. “That boy was headed towards a disaster! He was keeping secrets from his family!”

“You think I never kept secrets from my family?!” Enrique bellowed. “At times, when I was really mad at you, I’d whistle on my way to school!”

Elena gasped.

“Moreover! There were times I visited night clubs! With music!”

Elena gasped again.

“And guess what?! When Luisa and I first visited her parents after our wedding, they threw us a surprise party! With music! And you know what? We danced! And we enjoyed it!”

The family matriarch paled in fright. “You exposed Miguel to music?!”

Enrique scowled, up to his ears in frustration. “That was BEFORE Miguel was born!”

“You exposed him to music before he was even born?!”

“That’ not the point!”

Franco chose this moment to intervene. “Quique, mijo, that’s quite enough. You won’t bring your son home by giving your mother a heart attack.”

At the table, Luisa was wailing.

Enrique hurried to his wife’s side, his anger forgotten for the time being. “We’ll find him. It’s going to be okay,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster – which wasn’t an awful lot, but it hardly made a difference for a grieving mother.

“My poor baby,” she sobbed. “He must be so scared… he was so desperate, Quique,” she looked up at her husband and her pained expression almost brought tears to his own eyes.

Once again, Franco stepped up as the voice of reason. “Your son may have been desperate, but he is not an idiot,” he declared boldly. “He probably ran until he ran out of strength, and then found a quiet place to cry his heart out. When he can cry no more, he will fall asleep. He may catch a cold, but he won’t put himself in any real danger,” having said that, the old man regarded his daughter-in-law with bittersweet compassion. “I raised two sons, mija. You can trust me on this.”

Both parents appeared calmer, if only by a small margin.

Luisa drew in a long, shuddering breath, and wiped her face. “We have to keep looking,” she decided, raising to her feet.

Enrique stood in her way. “I’ll keep looking. You stay here.”

Luisa glared at him. “Not a chance!”

“Luisa, please. Think about the baby…”

He reached out to touch her, but she shrugged it off. “The baby is safe inside me! Miguel is out there, all alone! He needs me!”

“I’ll find him, I promise!” Enrique burst out at her. “I’ll move heaven and Earth if I have to! But I can’t do that, if I worry about you, too!” he stopped briefly, pain dominating his features. It seemed like he had to force himself to speak on, his voice reduced to an agonized whisper. “Please. I need to know at least one of our children is safe.”

For a couple of tense seconds, Luisa stirred in anger. Then she steadied herself, fixing her husband with a disgusted look. “I hate you, Enrique Rivera,” she snarled, fighting back a new wave of tears. “You fucking asshole with a fucked-up family.”

Enrique said nothing. He embraced his wife, and she let him.

In the silence that ensued, everybody, living and the dead, could do nothing but listen the litany of muffled sobs and bitter tears, the hopeless lament of parents who had lost their child. They had failed to keep him safe. They missed the signs of tragedy. They hated the whole world, each other, and most of all themselves. Jorge didn’t need to hear it said – he was a father, too. He worried about his children before they were born. He worried about them when they grew up. He worried about them even now, that his time on Earth was over. Looking over at Senor Alberto and Senora Sofia, he could see that they felt the same. It didn’t matter that their son was an old man with an adult grandchild of his own – he was their little boy. Nothing was ever going to change that.

The next moment, Jorge noticed a person coming out of the house. It was Carmen – his daughter. She approached the sorrowful gathering, scanning their faces and realizing the crisis was still going on. After a brief hesitation, she turned to the parents of the missing boy.

“Luisa, your mother called. I told her you went to the cementery and that you’ll call her later. I didn’t know if you want her to know…" her gaze escaped sideways for a second - she tried to mask it by pushing her hair out of her face. “I could tell her, if you don’t think you can.”

Jorge was touched. His sweet, considerate girl. She looked so guilty about having to trouble her sister-in-law. In spite of severity of the situation, he couldn’t help a surge of pride.

Meanwhile, Luisa was shaking her head, taking the time to respond. Poor woman, she was probably too spent to form a coherent thought, let alone voice it.

A loud slap cut through the air – it was Elena, gripping the sides of her head. “Good heavens! Mamita! I must check on her!” she cried, leaving the crowd in a rush.

“I’ll go with her,” Franco told his younger relatives. “We’ll manage, the two of us, so the rest of you keep looking for Miguel,” with that, he made his leave.

There was another moment of disturbing silence, until Enrique had a sudden jolt of inspiration. "That’s right,” he blurted, turning to his wife. “Miguel is mad at MY side of the family. He could be trying to take refuge with yours!”

Luisa became alert as she considered the option. "That’s… possible… but they all live far away…”

The two spouses racked their brains for a moment, then came to the same conclusion. “The bus terminal!” they cried simultaneously.

“I’ll check it!” decided Enrique, energized.

“I’ll help!” declared Gloria.

Her eldest brother opposed her. “No, you stay here. You too, Rosa. It makes no sense for all of us to be checking the same place. Abel and I will go with Enrique. You think where else Miguel could have gone.”

“Good idea,” said Carmen, quick to support her husband – and put a hand on their daughter’s shoulder. Rosa did not seem all too eager to defy her father, but precautions wouldn’t hurt.

In the end, the three men left the compound in a hurry. Three women and a girl stayed behind.

Carmen decided to give her daughter something to do. “Rosa, please go and check on your brothers. I put them to bed, but you know how it is with them.”

“Sure, Mama,” said the girl and headed for the house.

Carmen then turned to her husband’s sister. “Gloria, could you make some tea? I’ll stay with Luisa.”

“Sure,” said Gloria. “I think I’ll warm up some food, too. We are all going to be starved by the time Miguel is found.”

“Good idea,” conceded Carmen. “I’ll come and help you in a while.”

“Take your time. I’ll manage,” assured Gloria and headed for the kitchen.

With just the two of them left, Carmen addressed her remaining sister-in-law. “Do you want to call your mother now?”

Luisa sniffed. “Yes. I want my Mama.”

With an encouraging smile, Carmen put a hand on Luisa’s shoulder and escorted her into the house.

The courtyard was thus deserted – save for the three visitors form the Land of the Dead.

“Well,” said Senor Alberto finally, “this has to be the most dramatic Dia de Muertos in all of my afterlife.”

Senora Sofia and Jorge had no intention of challenging the statement.

Since they didn’t respond, Senor Alberto continued his thought. “We should get going. It’s not like we can help them.”

His wife nodded, though not without reluctance. “Can we please return here after we’ve visited Federico? I don’t want to wait a year to find out if Miguelito is safe,” to Jorge, she explained: “Federico is our son, Franco’s brother.”

“Fine,” conceded Senor Alberto. “It won’t hurt to make sure,” his eyes then turned to Jorge. “What about you, Senor del Bosque?”

Jorge thought about it. “I’ll stay a while longer,” he decided. “I would like to spend some time with my grandchildren, even if they are asleep.”

Carmen’s two youngest sons – the twins Manolo and Benito – were born after his death. He would never forge a bond with them, like he had with Abel and Rosa. Nonetheless, he was vividly interested in their development and wanted to experience it, even if insignificantly.

“Best of luck, then,” said Senor Alberto. “Enjoy your visit.”

“Happy Dia de Muertos, Senor del Bosque,” added Senora Sofia.

Jorge wished them best of luck, his mind already reaching out to the two little boys he would find inside the house. 

One thing was sure. After what he’d seen in Santa Cecilia, catching up with his wife and son was going to be pure relaxation.


End file.
